Gentlemen, think back for a moment to when you were eighteen, a pastoral mid-summer night on a sandy shore of a deserted tree-lined lake, the only light from the stars, the moon, and a fragrant fire on the beach. Now add the fact that you're a wee bit stoned, drinking some brews with your closest friends. It's been more than a month since high school graduation and you're still in that in-between world, no longer a high school kid, but not exactly a mature, responsible adult.
Plus, you've just screwed one of the cutest little former cheerleader butts on the entire cheerleading team.
To top off this exquisite - no, incredibly and pleasantly unexpected - event, the girl with the only other butt in your class who could compete with the one you've just nailed, is offering you one of two choices. You can have her drink your male seed straight from the condom you've just used and are still wearing -- or you can, finally, touch her tits, the biggest pair of tits in the whole school (and maybe the whole state) about which you've fantasized every day in school and most evenings in your bedroom for the last few years. In fact, you can remember the many times you'd be sitting in a class trying to catch a peek of flesh between the buttons of her blouse or just staring at her slender back in front of you and the bra band beneath her top, imagining what it would be like to unhook that bra and set those unbelievably huge breasts free.
That's a condom conundrum.
Maybe you've already made up your mind. If not or even if you have, let me tell you the story.
One of my closest girlfriends in grade school, then in high school was Piper. As we were growing up we played house together, dressed Barbies like GI Joes (and vice versa), and always dreamt about meeting our own Prince Charming, getting engaged, having a to-die-for wedding (at the county's classiest restaurant - it even had a wine list!), having children, buying a house with a playhouse for the girls and a treehouse for the boys -- and living happily ever after.
That was all well and good for "ever aftering." For the time being we were and always thought we'd be best buds.
We were also very competitive. If she got braces, I got braces. If I got a bicycle, she got a bicycle. Everything was a tautology: If A, then A. But as we began the sudden race into puberty, things began to change.
Our friendship grew deeper and we shared some intimate secrets we'd never share with others, but we also started to one-up one another. The balance of the tautology became more of a hypothetical syllogism: If A, then A + B. (Even though I was relatively late in "blossoming," by my eighteenth birthday that spring, I'd become the school's object of adoration, envy (or sometimes jealously), fascination, and even ridicule, because of my outrageously large boobs on my tallish, slender frame. In fact, they would have been overlarge on a short, stocky woman. On me, they were the fantasy of every male -- and I mean every one -- in the school.
Of course, Piper never, ever, tried to compete with me in that category. In fact, in the whole town no one could. There was just no competition.
By the time we reached junior high school it was clear to us that neither of us was college material. Our idea of the future involved getting out of high school, continuing our jobs working at the local supermarket, and maybe someday, getting to be assistant manager or even manager, just in time for our weddings. It was rural, and we were romantics, down to the diaries we kept with our self-indulgent, just-barely-teen angst.
Just give me a guitar and I'd be the next Joni Mitchell.
For now, I'll leave out the boring details about how each of us lost her virginity, but even that was competitive. Dating became a giant arena as to who was going out with whom and who did what with whom, how many times, etc. If you could count it, we'd compete over it. (In fact, this was in the Seventies and the movie Deep Throat had become a phenomenon. Well, Piper and I got into a long-running competition about that technique too, but that's another story.)
It was all fun, though, and we were among a group of friends/hippies/party girls. Fun (sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll) was the focus of our lives.
We had gone late this night, like many other nights that summer, to Lake Bogey, a smallish lake out in the middle of the woods with some vacation cottages on it and two small beaches, one at each end of the ellipsoid lake. (We'd always thought it had been named after Humphrey Bogart, but recently learned, to my disappointment, that it had been named Lac Beauregard by some European settler in the 1700s and no one could pronounce it properly. Ergo, Lake Bogey.)
The ebony, moonlit night smelled of cooling mid-summer heat and the aroma of our lonely fire. There were about a dozen of us; a few couples and an assortment of good friends from way back in grade school, some jocks, some brainiacs (the
au courant
term for nerds), some average Joes. At one time or another we'd all hung out together and were friends.
My first real boyfriend (the only guy with whom I'd ever been naked or intimate) and I had broken up a few weeks before when he left to go to an early freshman event at his new college. I never expected him to come back to our little town again and was OK with the break-up. (There were things I missed, of course, but I was always pretty good at "staying in the moment.") So I was by myself. Piper was with Jeff her latest boyfriend. There were two other couples and five or six single guys.
There we were gathered, organized on some blankets on the sand and on a couple of picnic tables around the fire. We'd smoked some joints and downed some beers, and everything was perfect with the world, staring up at the starry night.
Someone had a transistor radio playing Carly Simon singing
You're So Vain
, and each of us was silent or just humming along with the music.
Out of the blue-black night, I hear through my addled mellowness, "Constance, I know you love drinking sperm. I dare you to give everyone a blowjob and have them come in your mouth."
My first stunned reaction was embarrassment, then anger. That little bitch! I thought to myself.
In truth, I had enjoyed it more and more, when my boyfriend came in my mouth and I had experienced more intense orgasms simultaneously, ones that were way more pleasurable for me than when he'd play with me or even when he'd lick me.
You see, I was still a vaginal virgin. Don't ask me why. It's a long time ago. I was raised in the time and the place that a woman was supposed to stay a virgin until she was married. In our little town, the sexual revolution was an event happening seemingly in another country, far, far away.
My boyfriend convinced me that sucking his cock was a way to maintain both him and my integrity. So, dignity be damned: I had been sucking him for the past few months.
From the first time I put him in my mouth, I loved it. I loved everything about it. Often I'd come just by sucking him. Sometimes I'd forget that he was attached to "the cock." I made love to it, stared at it and loved to lick it, to kiss it and to make it happy.
And, every time he'd come I would, too, especially when he'd come in my mouth. I loved his cum. I'd lick it up from his abs if I missed any and I'd always lick my fingers after cleaning any missed drops off his cock.
Unfortunately, I'd told this to Piper.
So, at the moment all I could think was: how stupid of me to share this with her, my ultracompetitive friend. Now she'd made me a dare and I'd never done anything like this before.
